


The Fourth Wall

by mcgarrygirl78



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 18:28:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2438561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcgarrygirl78/pseuds/mcgarrygirl78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She loves to make it seem as if I have some kind of control over anything that’s happening right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fourth Wall

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive any grammar or tense mistakes. Hotch was saying what he needed to say and I did my best to clean it up but this is pretty much how the words flew from my mind to the keyboard. Sometimes you just have to let them tell their story. It was both scary and exhilarating to write. I havent said that in a while. Hope you enjoy it.

Just her walk makes me shiver. It’s more than a walk, it’s a swagger; she has a cocky fuckin swagger. Clint Eastwood would walk like that if he was a beautiful woman with a powerful firearm. I love the way she walks through a room, gun drawn, cutting around corners or blasting through doors. Yes, it’s a silly male fantasy, perpetuated by Charlie’s Angels and more Pam Grier movies than you can shake a stick at. But a woman who handles a firearm, really handles it, is sexy.

Not many people know that she can shoot better than I can; four points higher on the proficiency exam. It was six points higher the year before. I think I might be getting better but maybe she missed on purpose. Some women think that some men find it unattractive to be better than them at anything. Fuck some men.

I’m not some men. And a deaf, dumb, and blind man would know how hot she is. Should I really just be thinking of her as hot? Is that sexist or wrong in some way? Should I spend so much time thinking about her running in high heels, tight buttoned down shirts, or deep v-neck sweaters? Surely she didn’t dress that way on purpose.

She isn’t a sex kitten, at least not in the bullpen or the field. Clothes have no choice but to cling to her, caress her skin as I want to. She’s a slim woman with pert breasts and long legs. She’s lost some weight recently, maybe a little too much, but I also watch her eat pizza with Morgan like a frat boy. Maybe she’ll gain it back…I hope so.

When she fell into that pool recently, chasing a witness who refused to talk, it was like a dream sequence. Morgan yanked the guy out and she climbed out after them. Raven hair sticking to her skull, clothes as close as skin. I lose my breath, literally gasp right there in front of everyone. I can’t help myself, like the gods have seen fit to actually give me my fantasy.

OK, that isn’t my ultimate fantasy. That’s the red bikini, Phoebe Cates in _Fast Times at Ridgemont High_ moment. I'm not as bland as everyone thinks I am. I like sex, I like fantasy, and I dream about her. I dream about touching her, kissing her, holding her down, doing dirty things to her that have never left the boundaries of a fantasy world that’s just recently come back into play in my life. She’s the dominant one, in my fantasies; it’s about what she wants from me.

Just the fact that she wants me at all, even for her little play thing, is a fantasy. Why want me with guys like Morgan around? I see the way they look at each other sometimes, little secrets passing through their eyes. They don’t bother to hide it…neither of them are the shy type.

Except there is a beautiful shyness to her. There’s a vulnerability that can never be completely covered. Maybe I'm special and that’s why I see it. I am just as drawn to it as I am to the idea that there is satin and lace under her mostly sensible FBI ensembles.

I watch her with victims, families, witnesses, children…I see the softer side of her everyday. I watch her when she thinks no one else is. I see the steel leave her eyes and the stance leave her shoulders.

I ache to know what she’s thinking behind her eyes when they soften. Is she thinking of me as I think of her? It’s doubtful but I’ll add it to the list of fantasies. The list keeps growing and growing and growing.

I can't compete with every man. And every man wants her. Other FBI agents, local PD, firefighters, bartenders, valets, the vets at the VFW where I know she volunteers once in a while with her stepmother. She beats men off with a stick, some nicely and some not so.

I like watching her give them the brush off. The privileged few lucky enough to inhale perfume from the secret parts of her body rarely deserve it. I know she has sex without feeling, at least she used to. Sometimes it’s written all over her, like the scars of a cutter.

Random names that I don’t know and can't read but still recognize they’re there. She hides them well, like everything else, but there are things she can't hide from me. Little things, tiny glimpses, like a peek behind a thick velvet curtain. Just a glance, for a moment, yet I see so much. Maybe it’s all in my mind. She’s all in my mind.

I've created a fantasy because reality is too hard to digest right now. I need to be hurt, I need to be fucked, and I need to be dominated…that can't be normal. I need to be controlled because I'm losing more with every waking second. The only safe place I can let go is with her. She forces me, with her body, her mind, her voice, and her soul. That doesn’t make any goddamn sense; I am so off the subject now.

My mind wanders; eyes searching her out but can't find her. I can't turn it off. I need to turn it off and come back to reality. To case files and Unsubs and cold, empty condos somewhere far from what used to be home. That’s what I know now. I don’t know her; I only know the cold emptiness that has taken over my life recently. Yet she is warm, she is so hot, and I feel the smolder move through my bloodstream whenever she so much as brushes past me.

“Hotch?”

“What?” I say more abruptly than I intend, almost cringing when her hand falls on my shoulder. “I'm sorry, Prentiss, I'm sorry. Do you need something?”

“We need to prepare for landing.” She walks away quickly. She doesn’t even look at me.

I watch as she sits next to Morgan and straps herself in. He immediately starts, making her laugh, being witty and flirty. She falls right into it; she always falls into it. How come it’s a cakewalk for him and quicksand for me? She’s probably pissed I was so abrupt with her.

No, Emily’s not like that. Well maybe she is but she learned some time ago that I'm not always what I appear. I know that she isn’t so she has to know that about me. Right? Oh fuck it; I just need to stop thinking about her. I need something to help me stop thinking about her.

I’ll think of _Fur Elise_ instead. I’ll think of piano lessons with Ms. Carleton on sweltering Richmond afternoons. I’ll think of my father telling me I’d never get it right and my believing him for the longest time. I’ll think of the scent of lilacs in the air from the bushes mama planted in the front yard. I can't even listen to Beethoven anymore but I’d rather think about anything other than Emily Prentiss and her sexy smile and her fuckin swagger.

***

“You wanna get a drink?” she saddles up beside me as we walk away from the tarmac and toward the waiting SUVs. I surely won't let her know that she’s startled me. She’s still on my mind, _Fur Elise_ be damned. Nothing works anymore…it’s only a matter of time before I have to take what I need.

“It’s a little late, Prentiss.”

“It was a tough case.”

“They all are these days.”

“Tell me about it.” she smiles some but it didn’t quite make it to her eyes. “That’s why I'm thinking a drink will do me good. One drink Hotch, and its straight to bed.”

“Straight to bed?” my eyes glance at her. She keeps her eyes straight ahead but I'm sure she knows that I'm watching.

“Do not pass go; do not collect $200. What do you say?”

I can say about a million things but I don’t. I slide her go bag from her shoulder and sling it over mine. Straight to bed sounds like something I can handle tonight.

***

I have Maker’s Mark; it’s how I end many nights at home. Emily says she wants something different but memorable. I make her a Sweet Georgia Peach, peach schnapps and sweet ice tea. She wants to know where my extensive knowledge of liquor comes from. I don’t answer and she won't push just yet.

We have our drinks in silence; she finishes before I do. When she leans in closer, I grab her wrist and pull her off the couch. She’s on her knees, knows what I want. Her smile is almost feral when she unzips my slacks. Pulling my cock out, she strokes and licks it. I nearly drop my tumbler, still have a nip left, but I hold strong.

“Suck it.” I tell her, my voice dark and deep. I'm still holding her wrist.

“Suck what?” the sweet innocence in her voice nearly catches me off guard. Damn, that’s sexy. She acts as if she hasn’t done this a million times before.

“My cock.” I press my fingers deeper into her porcelain flesh. “Now. Suck it.”

Emily does what I tell her. She loves to make it seem as if I have some kind of control over anything that’s happening right now. She excels at cock sucking like she does at everything. I run my fingers through her thick, black hair and moan her name.

_Oh Emily…Emily, Emily, Emily. Oh yeah baby, don’t you dare stop. You are so fuckin good. Don’t you fuckin stop. Let me come, let me come down your deep throat. Don’t let go; you better let me come._

She doesn’t let go; never lets go. I practically scream with the sweet release. It’s hard to be cool like Steve McQueen when the most beautiful woman in the world is blowing you. It’s so dirty, so sexy, and I'm hooked. She’s been blowing me for awhile now, whenever she feels like it. Wherever she feels like it. And I let her, dear God I let her have her way with me.

She finally releases me from her mouth, licks me clean, and I push her back. I probably push too hard but Emily throws her hands back to catch the fall. I don’t offer an apology…she doesn’t want one. Soon I am over her; touching her, undressing her, and kissing her. She tastes so good.

She tastes like me, like schnapps, like lust. When she’s naked on the carpet I admire her as one would a work of art. That’s what she is, all long limbs and secret piercings. When its time for me to undress she grabs hold of my hands.

“No.”

“No what?” her grip is tight, which is hot not a hindrance.

“Don’t you dare undress.”

“You don’t want me to fuck you?” I ask.

“Oh you're definitely gonna fuck me. You're just gonna do it with all your clothes on. We do it my way, Agent Hotchner, or we don’t do it at all.”

I'm not going to argue, what fool would? Anyway, there's something sexy about her being naked while I'm fully dressed. I'm still wearing my jacket, my tie, even my shoes. The only thing exposed is my cock. I suppose that’s all she wants tonight anyway. But it won't be exposed for long; I plan to bury it so deep in her that we’ll be one.

We’ll be joined until I roar in triumph and come inside her. Except it’s usually more of a whimper, and I never come until she tells me to. Until she’s pushed me so far that all I can do is cry out and then collapse. Above her, beneath her, beside her, or behind her…Emily still runs the show. I come when she commands.

I can't even jerk off anymore without imagining her whispering in my ear. She’s got me by the balls. And I love every moment of it. I think she does too; it’s why we’re here again. I don’t think I'm the only one who can't get enough.

“You want it?” I ask, pulling her thighs apart. I'm so hard I can barely breathe. Just how far is she going to push me tonight?

“You want to give it to me.”

Dammit, she always has a snappy comeback. I'm not going to verbally spar with her tonight; there are other ways to make her surrender. I slide in, slow, meticulous…watching each change in her face as I get deeper and deeper. Then I nearly pull out before thrusting back in. Her back arches, her fingers grip my hips.

“That’s the way I like it.” she says through clenched teeth. “Fuck me like I like it, Aaron.”

Oh, so we’re on the first name basis now. When she pulls out Aaron, I know what she wants. All I can do is give her what she wants. Hot, sweaty, deep, penetrating, dirty, sexy, grabby…I'm starting to lose my train of thought. I hear her voice break through the walls around me like wrecking balls.

She’s calling for me, begging, screaming; I love it when she says my name. Sometimes I'm torn between wondering if I'm as good as she wants it or if it’s all an act but when she says my name that way, I don’t give a damn. All I want is to make her come and I know how to do that. I'm the only one, in this moment, who can make it happen.

“Mmm, oh my God, yes, yes!” she grips me tighter as I feel her falling. “Hotch, Hotch, Hotch…”

“Hotch!”

“What?” I open my eyes. When did I close my eyes? For a moment there's confusion and then I look around me. I'm on the plane, its empty, and it’s not in the sky. Morgan is standing in front of me with a strange look on his face. I can't imagine what mine looks like at the moment. My hand automatically goes to my heart, which is pumping like I just ran a marathon. “What's the matter?”

“I was going to ask you the same question. You're just sitting here. We landed; we landed ten minutes ago. Are you OK?”

“I'm fine.” I release the seatbelt and stand. My legs are like Jell-O and I try to hide that from Morgan. I doubt I'm doing a good job. I also have an erection. This is just fabulous; fuckin fabulous. “I just…”

“You’ve been distracted for a while now.”

“I'm fine, Morgan.” I say it firmer, as if that will make it the truth. “I just need a good night’s sleep. I’ll be as good as new in the morning.”

I move over to the closet, open it, and grab my go bag. Morgan watches me the whole time and while I know some of it is concern I want him to go away. Taking a deep breath, I put the bag over my shoulder and we exit the plane. The team is waiting on the tarmac; matching concerned faces look me up and down.

“I fell asleep.” I say, knowing none of them believe me.

“While its possible to fall asleep in the 27 minutes between Prentiss telling you we were about to land and the actual landing, its uncharacteristic.” Reid said.

“But not impossible.” I counter.

“No.” he shakes his head.

“Thank you. Goodnight, guys.”

We’re all walking in the same direction but not speaking. It was a long case, a long week, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who wants to put my head on the nearest pillow and wrap my arms around someone I care about. One out of two will have to do tonight.

“Let me drive you home.”

She’s on my shoulder before I know it and I jump. Emily apologizes when I turn to look at her.

“What did you say?”

“I said I'm sorry.”

“No, what did you say before that?”

“Let me drive you home, Hotch. You seem a little…”

“I'm fine.” If I say it enough times I might believe it. She damn sure doesn’t believe it.

“OK.” She puts her hand on my arm. “You're fine. Still, I insist.”

“Well, if you insist.” I manage a smile.

“Hmm,” Emily actually takes my go bag and puts on her shoulder. I try to take it back but she slaps my hand. Damn, that was sexy. “If you keep letting me have my way this might be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

“You insist that you drive me home.” I reply. “I insist that you stay for a nightcap.”

“I shouldn’t drink and drive, Hotch.”

I want to say I hear disappointment in her voice but Emily is an enigma to me. I don’t know if I hear anything at all.

“Then stay.”

I've said it; I've said it aloud. I can feel her looking at me. She’s burning a hole through me but she doesn’t say a word. I don’t even know if we’ll make it home. Pulling over on the side of the road for a fuck isn’t my style but tonight…anything is possible. She’s at the wheel and I’ll hold on until the ride comes to a complete stop.

***

  



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